


2AM in London

by joatlas



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU where Julian is a piano player and Garak owns a bar, Flirting, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, just very gay and for what, no idea where this comes from but have it, non-starfleet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24234310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joatlas/pseuds/joatlas
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	2AM in London

“Usual. Double ice.”

Someone said that to Garak, he barely registered their face before turning around, looking for the right bottle. It’s all quite messy because the night is drawing more to a close. 2AM on a Thursday, on Earth, in London. Barely any clients left. The dimmed lights of the bar illuminate his face ridges in strange angles. One moment, soft, an inch to the right and he’s menacing, mysterious if he takes a step back. 

He makes the drink while humming to the tune of the piano playing in the background. Some intricate jazzy tune. One of the perks of this place is the real piano, with the old lights and decor and the high quality spirits from all around the alpha quadrant and further away. For the clients at least. For Garak the perk is sitting behind that piano. 

He slides the glass on the bar, gratifies it with one of his infamous sideways smiles. His eyes lift up towards the piano player. Dashing Julian Bashir, his brows slightly frowned, eyelids half-close. He always looked like he was just on the verge of smiling, but not smiling really. Garak had seen him break into a smile at one of his jokes, a very good payoff. Sometimes he forced himself to say a joke just hoping to see his lips lift up. He had been working there for 6 months. Garak saw him play at some wedding he was invited to by an old acquaintance and offered him a position immediately - Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays. For the way he played of course, not the fact that he was smarter and cuter than anyone he had ever seen for a long time. 

From the corner of his eye, Garak saw the last big group of clients leave through the main doors, only maybe four people were still there. He would soon close. Julian was still playing though, and as Garak left his place at the bar to walk towards him, their eyes met and Julian stopped for a second, changing his position and switching his soft jazzy song into a sadder, emotional melody. A soft smile appeared on the Cardassian’s lips as he leaned on the piano. 

“ _Schwanengesang_ , Mr Bashir.” 

The serenade, to be exact. Garak had noticed he had a thing for Liszt retranscriptions and had studied them perhaps too carefully in his spare time. Old force of habit. Julian was still playing.

“How melancholic. If that is what this night evokes in you, perhaps I am not paying you enough. Any reason for such a mood?”  
“Does one need a reason?”  
“No. But a drink, maybe.”  
“I don’t drink on the job, and neither do you Garak.”  
“We’re closed then.” Garak smiled and waved at the security man to indicate it was over for the night. 

As he was back behind the bar making some drinks (on weekdays his barman left early), he saw Julian get up from his seat at the piano and walk in the direction of the front door. He thought, for an instant, he was about to leave him there and he had to admit his heart slightly dropped in his chest at the thought. He was, actually, just fetching his jacket hanging on a nearby wall. Garak sighed, to himself only and went back to his cocktail. He was used to learning many small details about people without even realizing he was spying on them. It was how he knew that despite his sentimental, soft exterior, Julian liked his drinks strong and spicy. In the same way that Garak appeared very sophisticated but, in truth, could not resist a coconut punch. 

Julian sat down and it was a moment before Garak finished. He liked for things to be perfect, after all, there was no rush. The pianist was watching him. These late nights happened often on Thursdays, they were more calm than the weekends where Garak was tired from handling the whole place and ended his nights at 5AM, wanting only to rest. He barely saw Julian on these nights, though he came once in a while during the night to check on him, flash him a dazzling smile, a small joke or someone quite well-known in the bar he wanted him to know about, as if he was interested in the matter. Well, he was quite fond of him, that much was clear. His intents he hoped were evident enough, he was simply waiting for Julian to definitely answer them. That did not seem at all to be a concern of the young man, though.

"One remedy for melancholy." He slid the drink in Bashir's direction and clinked it with his glass.  
"What is _your_ medicine for then, if I may ask?" Bashir said, lazily pointing to Garak's drink.  
"Hopelessness." Garak grinned.  
"Well, isn't that the same as melancholy?"  
"It surely isn't, my dear Mr Bashir." He came closer to him and rested his elbows on the bar. "You see, your vague-à-l'âme has no cause. Perhaps you think of a childhood memory, a long lost lover, something vague and distant. I have every notion of why and how I am hopeless."  
"And why is that?"  
"Nothing that can be said in a few minutes over a drink in my empty bar."

They both sip their drinks and stay silent for a moment. Garak is looking at Bashir's ears, and his neck, and thinking of how much he'd love to kiss him there.

"I have wanted to ask…" Garak starts but then trails off, suddenly feeling like his question comes out of the blue, and then coming back to it. "How do you play without sheet music all of these nights? I have never seen you with one. Not even these very difficult classical pieces."  
"Well, you see… I..." Julian seems to hesitate, about to confess something but stopping himself. "I have a very good memory."

Not a lie, definitely not the truth either, is what Garak concluded.

"Can I also ask something?"  
"Of course…I don't promise an answer."  
"You never told me how you ended up here."  
"I believe like every other citizen I took a shuttle followed by a bus ride."  
"I mean, from Cardassia. You know what I mean. Not that many of your kind walking around London." Julian was looking deeply into his eyes and, thankfully, Garak was highly trained in composure, because a part of him was swooning completely.  
“Why the interest in such an all around quite common bar owner and eternal bachelor like myself? With no special talent aside from…”  
“Making really good cocktails.” Julian lifts his glass in assessment.   
“Aside from that yes.” The cardassian smiles sideways.  
“You intrigue me, Garak.”  
“Unwise of you, Julian.” 

Garak made a show of pronouncing his first name slowly, getting closer to him before taking a step back, drinking quietly. 

“ _Probably yes. Guilty as charged._ ” Julian had said that in not clear, but at least correct, Cardassian, which caused Garak to wince for a second.   
“You’ve studied the Cardassian language.” he said, suspiciously, not happy about it, more like taken aback.   
“You’ve studied Liszt.”

And there, Julian looked at him, smiled and winked. For once in a millenia, Garak was suddenly at a loss for words. 

“Did you think your… attention had gone unnoticed?” Bashir finished his drink just there, not taking his eyes off him.   
“Well, I surely did not have any evidence it was noticed.” 

In some way, Garak was annoyed he did not. After all, seeing everything, knowing everything, that was his thing. He did not like to be the one left in the shadows, he did that to others. 

“You’re not as smooth as you believe you are.” 

Hearing Bashir say that was almost offensive to him, but in an amusing way. He did not know about any of his past, or other activities. Only in matters such as these was he oblivious.

“Perhaps not.” Garak simply said, his elbows down on the counter once again, hands desperately close to the pianist’s face.   
“You said earlier that some things cannot be said at night in an empty bar. What about at night in my apartment?”   
“Talking is the last thing I would wish to do there, Mr Bashir.”

Hearing that, Julian left his chair and immediately started towards the door, only turning around to flash him a smile :

“We’ll have to see, boss.”

And with this, Garak arrived behind him to slide his arm under his, correcting :

“It will be Elim, for you.”

They both waited for a cab in the chill of the night, the light of the moon giving Garak’s skin a strange blue glow, and Julian’s lips soft under his, still tasting like expensive whisky.


End file.
